Tracylimpics
by Silver Bee
Summary: Four years ago Gordon swam for Olympic gold. This year, he's entering a very different kind of competition - against some very familiar opposition.
1. Gordon who?

_I haven't given up on 'Nothing Lasts Forever' but when I sat down to write, this story demanded to be written instead. I've had the idea for ages and always intended to do it round about now, so here it is._

Chapter One

When Thunderbird Two touched down at 10.30pm on 15 August, Virgil had only one thought in mind - his interrupted birthday celebrations. He hadn't even opened his first gift when the call had come for the 'birds to launch. Now, several hours later, he was tired, dirty - though not quite as muddy as Alan - and more than ready to pick up where he'd left off. Though if he was honest, he was looking forward to food and cake even more than he was the pile of presents - all he'd had in the last ten hours were a couple of energy bars.

So, on entering the lounge, bracing himself for the inevitable, if affectionate, lecture from Grandma about tracking dirt across the carpet, it was a surprise to find that instead of cheerful grins and good-natured complaints about Two's slow speed meaning that everyone was starving and had only been prevented from demolishing the birthday cake by dark threats from their father and grandmother, the atmosphere was decidedly gloomy.

Even more surprising was that the source of this melancholy was clearly the brother who would have been unanimously declared as the most cheerful of the Tracy boys, should it ever have been put to a vote.

Even Alan sensed something was wrong. "What's up, Gords?" he asked, crossing the room and attempting to ruffle his brother's hair, only to be met with an irritable shove backwards.

"Nothing." The forced smile didn't convince anyone.

"Gords?" Virgil glanced at the other members of the family. They didn't look as sullen as Gordon, but there was clearly some concern in their expressions.

"I'm fine!" Gordon got to his feet, though the usual spring in his step was missing as he moved to pick up a clumsily wrapped present. "Happy Birthday."

As the rest of the family swarmed around him with their own gifts, Virgil let himself get caught up in the moment. After all, if there was something seriously wrong, someone would have told him when he landed. No, Gordon, whilst sunny and optimistic 99.9% of the time, sometimes had his moments. Maybe it was even a prank and any second now he'd swoop on an unsuspecting Virgil and do something which he would find funny but which Virgil certainly wouldn't.

Resolving to be on his guard, Virgil threw himself into the unwrapping of his gifts then dashed off to his room for a shower before the long-delayed dinner.

When he came out of the bathroom, Alan - also clean - was sprawled across his bed, flicking through the remote control of Virgil's TV.

"Make yourself at home, Al," Virgil said, pulling a drawer open in search of a favourite shirt.

"I know what's wrong with Gordon," Alan announced.

"What?"

"I should have guessed, but he didn't mention it and after the rescue call came in I must have just forgotten."

"What is it? Do the others know?"

"Yeah. Oh, here it is." Alan turned the volume up and Virgil sat down next to his brother, realisation striking him as he did so."

"I'd forgotten it was today, too."

"Guess Gords didn't want to spoil your birthday," Alan said. "Though this is going to be a memorable day for him from now on - for all the wrong reasons."

"That bad?" Virgil asked in some surprise. "When I asked him about it a while back he seemed okay."

"Oh, it's not _that_ ," Alan said. "No, he didn't have a problem with missing the Olympics - it's not like there haven't been other championships he's missed. He's been fine about giving up competitive swimming. It's not as though he doesn't have better things to do here with International Rescue. No, it's... Well, see for yourself."

Virgil watched as the commentator began listing the swimmers in the final of the 100m butterfly, the event in which, four years earlier, his brother had not only won gold, but broken the world and Olympic records. Some of the competitors in today's race had been there that day, but there were also a few new faces, men Gordon had never had the chance to compete against. One in particular was being feted as a potential great and it was this man that the commentator was now describing in the most glowing terms, recalling Gordon's short but glittering swimming career and wondering how the two would have matched up in today's race.

 _"No one really knows why Gordon Tracy gave up when he did,"_ the commentator said. " _But given the rise of Vladimir Petrov, maybe he was wise to quit while he was ahead."_

A second commentator broke in. _"You think Petrov would beat Tracy? His best time is still below Tracy's record."_

 _"Yes, Steve, but Petrov's only twenty and his best is yet to come. I think we're going to see something special this afternoon."_

Virgil could see where this was leading. He turned to Alan. "Did he-?"

"Ssh! They're about to start."

Virgil watched as the swimmers dived in and began to race. Sure enough, Petrov was victorious, surging ahead of the rest and winning easily.

The commentator was going wild:

 _"What a swim by Petrov! And - yes, it's confirmed, a new world and Olympic record. Look at that time, Steve. He didn't just break Gordon Tracy's record, he annihilated it."_

 _"Gordon who?"_ the second man said - and it was a good thing he couldn't hear the abuse that Virgil and Alan gave him over that comment!

"Now I get it," Virgil said as Alan jabbed at the 'off' button.

"Yeah. Gordon didn't mind someone else being Olympic champion, but losing the records, that hurt."

"Maybe not as much as that guy's comment, though," Virgil said bitterly. "'Gordon who', indeed. No wonder he's not happy."

"I've never seen him so grouchy," Alan agreed. "He-"

A sharp knocking at the door interrupted him. "Virgil, are you coming to dinner? Your father's half-asleep and if I don't serve it up now we'll be eating it for breakfast."

"Coming, Grandma!"

As they walked back to the dining room, Grandma told them how she and Jeff had watched the race with Gordon. Like the brothers, she had a few choice words for the tactless commentator, though being Grandma, her feelings were expressed in a somewhat more refined manner than they had managed.

"The poor boy's not been himself, since," she said. "I had a chat with him while we were waiting for you to come home and he says he doesn't regret giving up swimming to join you all here, but I know he wishes he'd been there to defend his title."

"He'll never know if he could have beaten Petrov," Virgil said.

"Well, if Petrov could break his record..." Loyalty to his brother meant Alan didn't want to put into words the fact that Petrov probably would have beaten Gordon.

"We'll have to do what we can to cheer him up," Grandma said.

Sure enough, everyone tried, and Gordon did his best not to put a downer on Virgil's birthday party, but he clearly wasn't himself. It was a short meal given the lateness of the hour but even though everyone was tired, it still worried them when Gordon, usually the last to leave any party, was the first to announce that he was heading off to bed.

* * *

It was rare for Gordon to lapse into any kind of bad mood. For sure, a bad rescue would do it, but he was a born optimist, preferring to focus on the lives they'd saved rather than the ones they'd lost, and even if a mission had been a complete failure, he could always find something positive to take from the situation, even if it was only a suggestion as to how to improve things in the future. But this time, his miserable mood continued for several days, meaning that everyone around him, reliant on his good humour to counteract the stress of rescues, was affected too.

Even swimming, his usual release from tension, didn't help. In fact, it made things worse, an active reminder of why he was depressed in the first place. Gordon hated the way he was feeling, hated the way he'd taken the loss of his records to heart like this. He'd always told himself that records were there to be broken, and he certainly hadn't given much thought to how the man he'd replaced in the record books might feel about it, but then again, the man whose crown he'd taken had retired from competitive swimming some ten years before. Gordon, however, might have had his best years in front of him and whilst he'd been quite honest with Grandma when he told her that he didn't regret being part of International Rescue, he couldn't help feeling that maybe he should have taken up the offer his father had made him when the organisation had started up and allowed himself time to train and compete, even if it was just in a few events a year.

Alan still raced. Just occasionally and more as a hobby these days, but he still won races. Not that winning at swimming would be so easy, of course - there was a lot more training required, plus the strict diet which had always been so difficult to follow when Grandma was baking treats for everyone else. Realistically, of course, he knew he couldn't have maintained his superiority, but knowing it and wishing for it were two very different things.

It wasn't even as if there were any rescues to distract him. Not that he would wish danger and hurt to anyone, but he'd love the chance to feel good about himself again. After all, Valdimir Petrov didn't save lives, did he? No, Gordon Tracy - if only he could get the sound of the commentator saying ' Gordon who?' out of his head - had made the right choice. Now he just had to stop feeling so bad about it - this really wasn't like him. His family were worried about him, too, and that made him feel guilty. Selfish, too, for feeling this way when as he well knew, he was one of the most privileged men in the world.

It was Alan and Grandma who found a way to cheer him up. At dinner, some four days later, both of them were looking somewhat pleased with themselves. Everyone but Gordon noticed it, especially since they spent the meal looking at each other and either smiling (Grandma) or winking (Alan). When Kyrano had cleared the dishes away, Gordon made to leave, only for Grandma to ask him to stay. Unusually, Kyrano returned, meaning that all the inhabitants of Tracy Island were gathered around the table. John, too, was present, via the vid-link from Thunderbird Five.

"We've had an idea," Alan announced, gesturing across to Grandma. "Gords, we've got a way to cheer you up."

A couple of days earlier, Gordon would probably have snapped that he didn't need cheering up, but he was so fed-up now that he simply looked up curiously, not expecting to go for whatever plan they had, but unable to stop himself hoping that his family might be able to help him out.

"Remember when you boys were little?" Grandma asked. "Summer vacation at the beach?"

"Yeah," Scott said, wondering where this was going.

Jeff laughed, catching his mother's eye. "Really, Mom?" he asked.

Grandma's smile became even wider. "Why not?"

"What?" Gordon asked, even as Virgil started laughing too.

"You don't remember the Tracylimpics?" Grandma asked.

Tin-Tin stared at her. "The what?"

"The contests we used to have on summer vacation," Scott told her. "The ones I should have won, except I had to have penalties to make sure the kids didn't cry because they were always getting beaten."

"So Gords isn't the only sore loser in the family," Virgil whispered to Brains, careful to keep his voice low enough for neither brother to hear.

Gordon sighed. "Sure, they were fun, but I'm a bit old for that kind of thing, Grandma."

"And that's exactly the kind of comment that makes me think it's exactly what you need!" Grandma exclaimed. "Gordon Tracy refusing a challenge? Turning down the chance to have some fun?"

"Gordon's right, though," Scott said. "We're not kids any more. Anyway, a day on the beach isn't exactly a novelty these days."

"Who said anything about the beach?" Alan asked. "Or about kids' games for that matter? No, this is the new, improved Tracylimpics. Come on guys, we're always joking around about who's the best. Now we can find out once and for all. Here's the plan: each of us comes up with one challenge based on our particular skills. Mine's driving, obviously, Gords, yours is swimming. But it doesn't have to be sport. Dad and Grandma will be the judges - they can think up challenges as well. So can Tin-Tin and Kyrano. John, if Brains doesn't mind taking over on Five, you can take part too."

John pulled a face, obviously having been thinking that up on Five he was safe from such nonsense. But when he started to tell Brains not to bother about it, Alan threw down the one challenge a brother could never refuse.

"Scared? Think you'll come last?"

John looked at him through narrowed eyes. "I get to issue my own challenge?"

"Sure."

"Okay. It's about time someone put you kids in your place."

"Go Johnny!" Alan was clearly delighted having thought John would be the hardest brother to get on board. Only later did he start worrying about what devious plan John would come up with...

But for now there were other brothers to convince.

"Gords?"

Gordon considered it. On the one hand it did sound fun - he'd loved those childhood summers - but on the other, a few silly games hardly compared to an Olympic final...

"Scott, you'll do it, won't you?" Alan went on. "I mean, I know you're a bit old now, but you can always use the excuse that you're letting us win."

"In your dreams." Scott pushed his chair back, flexed his biceps and grinned. "It's about time I got the chance to take you guys on properly. I'm in."

"Virg?"

"It doesn't have to be sport?"

"No. Music, drawing, anything."

"Okay." Virgil zoned out of the rest of the conversation, wondering which of his many talents he could draw on to challenge his brothers.

Jeff was delighted with the idea. He'd always loved summer vacations with his boys. It was one of the few times when he'd allowed all his other responsibilities to be taken over by his managers, freed from the stress of his business and able to devote all his time and energy to his family. Those days on the beach had been some of the happiest of his life - aside from the tantrums from Alan when he'd lost a race, of course. It would do his boys good, too - all of them, not just Gordon.

"I have an idea," Kyrano said.

"M-me too." Brains smiled as Alan clapped him on the back.

Gordon was aware everyone was looking at him. Well, any distraction was welcome at the moment and it could be fun, of course. Plus, he was bound to win at least some of the events and any kind of victory would be good right now - in fact, beating a brother would be just as satisfying as beating another swimmer, possibly even more so. He'd certainly be able to make full use of the bragging rights afterwards.

"We get medals," Alan said.

"And cake," Grandma added, knowing exactly how to bribe a grandson.

"Well in that case..." Gordon said slowly, a genuine smile beginning to appear on his face, a more than welcome sight for everyone after the forced efforts of the last few days. It was clear what his answer was going to be.

"Challenge accepted!"


	2. A Series of Challenges

_Thank you so much for the response to the first chapter - I really do_ _appreciate it._

Chapter Two: A Series of Challenges

It wasn't just Gordon who was revitalised by Alan's idea. There was a real buzz about the island following his announcement, the kind that hadn't been experienced since the earliest days of International Rescue.

"Why did I agree to this?" Jeff asked his mother - not for the first time - as they sat on the terrace and listened to a good-natured but deadly serious argument between Scott and Virgil as to who was most likely to emerge victorious. "They were competitive enough when they were kids, but at least then I could send one of them to their room if they acted up. I can hardly do that now."

"Because you love your boys, you feel guilty for putting them under so much pressure on rescues and you want them to have a bit of fun," Grandma told him. "And it's good for you, too. You work too hard, Jeff. It's time you got some enjoyment out of life."

"I do enjoy life!" Jeff protested.

"Work, work, work," Grandma admonished. "I'll never understand how a country boy could get a kick out of meetings and spreadsheets. No, this is just what you need. I just wonder why you're not taking part yourself. You could, you know. You always used to."

"I'm too old, Mother." There was just a hint of regret in Jeff's voice.

"You mean you don't want your boys beating you."

Jeff continued to protest that nothing could be further from the truth, but his mother simply patted him on the head and went to prepare lunch. She was delighted with the way things were going. When Alan had tentatively suggested that they revive the Tracylimpics she'd immediately declared it a wonderful idea. They'd had so much fun when the boys were young and at her age she was more than happy to relive the pleasures of the past.

Alan was busy organising everything, much to the amusement of his older brothers, who were used to him sitting on the sidelines and letting everyone else do the work.

"Right, guys," he said, looking around at the assembly of brothers, John present via the link to Thunderbird Five. "Here's how it's going to work. Everyone puts forward a challenge. The sooner you let me know what it is, the better - it's only fair that we get the chance to do some training. Now, we're naturally going to win our own event, so what's really going to be important are the challenges Dad, Grandma and the others set."

"About this training," John broke in. "I'm kind of at a disadvantage up here on Five. Not that I'm not up to anything physical, but it'll take me a few days to get my land-legs back."

"I've thought about that," Alan told him. "Brains is happy to go up on Friday, so if we start the contest the Friday after, that'll give you a week to get in shape and get your own challenge organised. It'll take that long for the medals I've ordered to arrive, anyway. Everyone okay with that?"

Everyone was.

"Now then, the challenges... You've probably guessed mine: go-kart racing."

"Where's the track?" Scott asked.

Alan cast a slightly nervous look at Virgil before he replied. "Two's hangar. It's the only place that's big enough."

Sure enough, Virgil wasn't happy. There were too many things in there that might get damaged if someone drove into them, not least, Two herself.

"I've asked Dad and he said I could," Alan told him. Scott had to smile, reminded of all the times his youngest brother had come out with that line over the years. At least these days he no longer added a smug "So there!" at the end. "It's okay, Virg. We'll move Two out onto the runway and I'll set up a track. There'll be tyre walls to protect all the important things."

Virgil continued to grumble, but Alan continued regardless. "Gords, swimming?"

"Yeah. Butterfly." It was hardly unexpected, but all the same, the announcement was greeted with loud groans. Though all the boys were strong swimmers, only Gordon had ever taken to that particular stroke.

"100m?" Alan asked.

"Nope, 400. It'll be fun for me to watch you guys still flailing around when I'm out of the pool and towelling myself dry."

No one even bothered to protest - Gordon was probably right.

"What about you, Scott?" Gordon asked. "Flying?"

Scott thought for a moment, apparently trying to come to some decision, then shook his head. "Actually, I was thinking about a marathon."

The groans this time were even louder.

"A marathon?" John asked. "Are you trying to finish me off, Scott?"

"Thought you were in shape."

"Yeah, but I'm not used to the sun, remember."

"I don't think any of us are up to running a marathon here," Virgil said. "Not even you, Scott."

"Who said anything about sun?" Scott asked, with a sly grin at his middle brother. "4 am is the perfect time for a long run. Nice and cool."

"And dark," Gordon pointed out. "Trying to put us all out of the competition with broken ankles, Scotty?"

"It's the only way he'd win," Alan teased.

Scott refused to rise to the bait. "I'll light the route for you. Don't worry, guys, you'll have no excuses not to get to the end."

"Guess that'll be okay," John said, though there wasn't much enthusiasm in his voice.

Virgil, however, still wasn't happy, glaring at his oldest brother. "You may not be trying to kill Johnny but you're clearly not so worried about me. You really expect me to get up at 4am to run 26 miles?"

"Well we'll need a warm-up, so I thought 3.30," Scott said, clearly enjoying the effect his announcement was having on his brothers. They all kept fit but none of them shared his love of running. For him, a few circuits of the island in the early hours of the morning was not only the perfect way to keep fit, but the best way to get his thoughts in order and relax.

"Great," said Alan. "So that's a marathon for Scott."

"I'll let you know the route in a day or so," Scott informed them. "Give me time to mark it out."

"I'll check it," John offered. "I wouldn't put it past you to add a couple of miles just to tire us out before the next event."

"As if I would!" Scott's show of indignation didn't fool anyone.

"What have you got in mind, John?" Alan asked.

"I'm still thinking."

"Okay. Well, that just leaves Virg. What do we think, guys? Draw a picture? Or write a song?"

"Are you saying I'm predictable?" Virgil asked.

"Well..." Gordon was at least trying to be a little more tactful than Alan, who simply responded with a 'yes'.

"Not predictable," Scott said affectionately. "Just... reliable."

"You mean boring," Virgil said in mock-irritation.

"Well, they're what you're best at. None of us would have a hope of beating you in either of them."

"I'm good at other things."

"Yeah. Sleeping!" Gordon couldn't help laughing. "You're not planning a 'who can sleep the longest?' challenge, are you, Virg?"

Virgil endured the good-natured teasing of his brothers, all the while debating his options. He had indeed been planning some kind of artistic challenge, but the creative part of his nature couldn't help but crave something more original. Before he'd really thought it all through, he heard himself rejecting all the suggested options in favour of "Something different".

"Different?" John asked.

"Yeah."

"Want to share?" Alan asked.

"Not yet. I need to sort a few things out first." _Like what the challenge actually is_ , Virgil thought to himself, wondering whether he was going to regret putting himself in this situation.

"We're done, then," Alan concluded. "The others are still working out their challenges. Brains wants to put everything together for his before he heads up to Five and Grandma and Tin-Tin want to go shopping - I hate to think what they're going to have us doing. Kyrano's being mysterious as usual and as for Dad... well, who knows?"

"He's loving this," Virgil said with a smile.

"Me, too," Gordon responded. "Thanks, Al. It's just what I needed." He got to his feet. "Guess I should head back to my room, clear a little space for another gold medal."

"You mean silver, don't you?" Scott stood up, making sure he made full use of the extra five inches of height he had over Gordon. "For the first time I get to take you guys on properly - no head starts, no letting you win because Grandma said so. You don't stand a chance."

They were still bickering as they left the lounge.


	3. Something for the Ladies

_Thank you so much for the response to this story. I'm having a lot of fun writing it - especially this little chapter! Hope you like it._

Chapter Three: Something for the Ladies

"Penny, are you sure you can't spare the time to visit?" Tin-Tin asked. "It's so much fun here right now. The boys are really throwing themselves into this contest. You'd enjoy it, you really would."

"Tin-Tin, I really can't. I have an engagement for afternoon tea at the palace next week."

"Well, if you're sure," Tin-Tin said. "Maybe you're right - tea with the king will be far more civilised than what's going on here right now. To be honest, I can see things getting out of hand before long. You know how competitive the boys are. Even John's spending hours in the gym and that's something I never thought I'd see."

Penny had to agree with her on that one.

"Alan's driving me mad," Tin-Tin continued. "He's begging me to tell him what my challenge is, promising me all sorts of things if I give him a hint. I'm tempted to suggest we get engaged just to see what he says."

"What are you planning?" Penny asked.

"Not what Alan thinks, that's for sure. Twice now I've caught him reading my fashion magazines. I'm sure he thinks I'll get him to design a dress or something."

"Well, that would definitely be a challenge," Penny laughed.

Tin-Tin, however, didn't find it funny. "Penny, I'm an engineer. I sometimes think everyone forgets that. Even Mr Tracy - he's more likely to ask me to type a letter than fix a piece of equipment. No, I'm going to give them a workbench and a pile of components and they'll have an hour to work out what it is and put it all together."

"Won't Virgil have an advantage there?" Penny asked. "Alan might not like that."

"Not really," Tin-Tin insisted. "They're all more than capable of doing basic repairs on their 'birds. This is no different."

"I suppose so." Lacking any particular enthusiasm for the mechanical, Penny was about to end the conversation, her thoughts starting to drift towards the opera she was to attend that evening.

"They need something to exercise their minds, anyway," Tin-Tin went on. "All these physical challenges are going to wear them out. Honestly, Penny, you should see them. I'm looking out onto the pool right now and they're all down there getting some training from Gordon. They're taking it so seriously. I thought Alan would be the only one to think about what he was going to wear to reduce water resistance, but no, they're all down there in tiny Speedos, flexing their muscles and comparing six-packs. Mrs Tracy's already complaining that the seams of their shirts are straining with all this extra bulk. She's only half-joking when she says her challenge should be for them to sew up the tears. Oh, now Scott's doing one-handed press-ups and Virgil's just joined in. Looks like they've found something else to compete over. Well, at least with a dip in the pool afterwards they won't be coming in all hot and sweaty again. I've lost count of the number of times Mr Tracy has told them off for wandering around without their shirts on. And that's another thing - I'm so tired of being asked to drop whatever I'm doing in order to rub sunscreen on their backs. They- Sorry, Penny, did you say something?"

"No, no. Nothing. Not a thing." Penny wasn't really lying. After all, there had been no words, just something which was halfway between a sigh and a whimper. "How long did you say this was going on?"

"Ten days. Ten days of rampant testosterone and alpha male egos. I really wish you could be here to help me get through it all, Penny. Oh well, I expect you'll have a lovely time at the palace."

"Yes. About that... "

Two minutes later Penny had ended the call in order to summon Parker and her suitcases, whilst Tin-Tin was left to smile in satisfaction at a job well done.


	4. Chapter 4 - Nobody's Perfect

**Finally... I can't apologise enough for the delay in updating this and 'Nothing Lasts Forever' - real life took over last year, particularly with regard to work, and I simply didn't have the time or the energy to write. I'm determined not to let that happen again. Thanks to everyone who's still reading - I'll be a lot more regular with updates from now on (that's my resolution for 2017!).**

Chapter Four - Nobody's Perfect...

 _"Kyrano!"_

It was unusual for Jeff to bellow quite so loudly, especially when summoning his friend and faithful servant, but these were unusual times. The Tracylimpics, so fondly recalled by the doting father when a revival had first been mooted, were proving something of an irritant now. Jeff had all too quickly realised that the intervening years must have wiped away all memory of the pouting, the whining - even the fighting - which had accompanied the family's holiday competitions.

Well, those memories had been well and truly brought back over the last few days. Why on earth had he agreed to this? A brief moment of insanity, perhaps? Of course, he'd wanted to cheer Gordon up - he'd felt as badly as any of his sons over the loss of that Olympic record - but in hindsight, surely there would have been better ways...

"Yes, Mr Tracy?"

Kyrano's soft voice made Jeff start.

"Where's Scott? Didn't you ask him to come to my office?"

"Of course, Mr Tracy. But Mr Scott was... busy."

"Not another gym session?" Jeff felt exhausted just looking at Scott's training schedule.

"No, Sir. He is in the lounge."

"The lounge?" Jeff was genuinely surprised. If not the gym, he'd have bet money on Scott being in the pool or pounding out a leisurely couple of miles along the beach. The idea of his son taking a rest definitely came as a surprise.

"Yes, Mr Tracy. All the boys are there. Should l remind Mr Scott that you wish to see him?"

"That's alright, Kyrano. I'll find him myself."

Jeff was braced for the sound of more bickering, but when he reached the lounge all seemed quiet. He peered through the half-open door to see Alan balanced precariously on a stool, pinning some kind of chart to the wall.

"Is it straight?" the youngest blond asked.

"Yep." Gordon, Scott and John were quick to respond.

Only Virgil was silent, narrowing his eyes as he surveyed his brother's efforts. "It needs to go up on the left," he finally announced.

Well, in matters like this, Virgil's artistic eye reigned supreme, so Alan naturally ignored the other three. "How much?"

"About... two millimetres."

"Two _millimetres?_ " Alan turned to glare at his brother, nearly toppling off his stool. "Seriously, Virg?"

"Yes." Virgil glared back. "No point doing it unless you do it properly."

Alan did as he was told, though he muttered an insult he'd never have dared use if he'd known his father was in close proximity. Virgil would probably have responded in kind, but he'd spotted Jeff at the door so said nothing, just smiled smugly as his father made his presence known.

"What is that, anyway?" Jeff asked, once Alan had finished apologising.

"Scoreboard," Alan told him, pressing the final pin into place and jumping down from the stool.

Jeff studied the chart then turned to his son. "Are you sure you've spelt that right? There's a 'y' in Olympics."

"That's what I said," John told him.

"So did I," Scott chipped in.

"Me, too." said Virgil.

Jeff waited for Gordon to add his agreement, then remembered that spelling wasn't his fourth-born's strongest suit. Nor Alan's, it appeared.

Alan's cheeks reddened, but he still tried to brazen it out. "It's how _I_ spell it," he informed them. "And it's written that way on the medals, too. Of course, you don't have to accept any of them if you're so offended by the spelling. If you actually win any, of course..."

Ignoring John's suggestion that one of the challenges should be a spelling bee, he reached over to the desk and grabbed a marker pen. "Okay, now for the names. Alphabetical order, I think..." He started to write his own name on the top row, only for Scott to object.

"Hey! I should be first."

"Nah, let him alone, Scott," Gordon drawled. "It's the only time the kid's going to be in first place."

"Kid?" Alan snorted. "You're only a year older than me, Gords. Anyway, I thought you said one of us was bound to win given the advantage we had over the oldies."

"Who are you calling old?" Virgil asked, advancing on his brother and flexing his - now even more impressive - muscles as he towered over Alan.

"Not you, Virg," Alan said quickly. "But Scott and Johnny, well..."

"It won't be age that lets me down," John told him. "I'm at a disadvantage because I can't train up on Five. Scotty on the other hand..."

Scott refused to rise to the bait. "With age comes experience," he informed them. "I won't just outperform you guys, I'll out-think you, too."

"In the pool?" John asked. "You don't need brains to swim. Do you, Gords?"

Gordon raised an unamused eyebrow. "Is that why you're so hopeless, John? All those brains weighing you down?"

"That's enough!" Jeff moved over to where Scott was lounging on a sofa. "Son, that meeting's not going to go our way if you're not fully prepared. You were supposed to be in the office half an hour ago."

"Sorry, Dad." Scott jumped to his feet.

"Off you go, Scott." Alan waved him away before turning to the others. "Okay, guys, how about a bit more practice on the go-karts?"

"Sure."

In just a few seconds the others were gone. Scott stared after them in frustration before turning back to his father. "Thanks, Dad. The one event I need to work on. Couldn't we do this later? What about tomorrow morning? No, wait, I've got a ten mile run scheduled then. Tuesday's my rest day, we could... Dad?"

"My office. _Now!_ "

Scott knew when he was beaten. Muttering under his breath, he left the room.

Jeff moved to follow his son, only to be distracted once again by Alan's scoreboard. "It's definitely a 'y'," he murmured.

"Did you say something, Mr Tracy?" Kyrano had reappeared.

"It doesn't matter, Kyrano." Jeff sighed. "Would you get me a drink, please?"

"I have just made a fresh pot of coffee."

Jeff fought against temptation for all of two seconds, before giving in. "Forget the coffee. Get me a scotch."

Kyrano bowed and moved across to the bar, too polite to mention that he was more than half-expecting that request. As much as he loved the Tracy family, he had to agree with his employer that the revived Tracylimpics were proving somewhat trying as the brothers strove to prove their superiority. He'd stayed neutral, of course, smiling enigmatically as his daughter expressed her wish that Alan emerge triumphant. If truth be told, he'd rather Virgil or John won - both were such quiet, modest boys - but he knew better than to say so in front of Tin-Tin. Besides, he was to be a judge, and as such he needed to preserve an air of neutrality.

Still, he couldn't help but smile as he considered the tasks the boys would be facing over the coming weeks, many of which they were still blissfully unaware of...

* * *

Later that evening, with the five Tracy brothers fast asleep, exhausted from a hard day's training, Jeff, Grandma and Tin-Tin sat on the terrace.

"I can't believe Penny's so insistent on visiting us now," Jeff said. "I tried to put her off, but she says she'll be tied up with MI5 business after this week. Well, she can't say I didn't warn her. I just hope she knows what she's letting herself in for."

"Oh, I'm sure she does," Tin-Tin smiled.

"She's even issuing her own challenge," Jeff continued. "But at least we'll have another completely neutral judge. The boys used to drive Mom and I crazy with all the whining and complaints about favouritism. They won't be able to do that with Penny."

Tin-Tin's smile grew even wider. The others might not have noticed, but she had a feeling that Penny had something of a soft spot for the eldest brother. Not that she expected the aristocrat to be anything other than scrupulously fair, but it would be fun to watch her try to keep her feelings for Scott under control. "Parker seems quite enthusiastic about it all, too," she said.

"When are they arriving?" Grandma asked.

"In just a few hours," Jeff told her. "I was going to send one of the boys to pick them up but I'd rather let them sleep - if nothing else it gives us all a bit of peace. I'll go myself. It'll be good to give the jet a-"

The shrill beeping of an alarm startled them.

"Brains is calling from Thunderbird Five," Jeff said, hurriedly getting out of his chair and heading for the lounge. "Looks like International Rescue is needed."

They certainly were. A serious fire in an eighty-five story apartment complex in California required the organisation's assistance, so it was Kyrano who was dispatched to collect Penny and Parker when they landed on the mainland. When they finally arrived on Tracy Island, Parker immediately headed off to the kitchen to prepare tea for his mistress, whilst Tin-Tin pulled Penny to one side to assure her that the boys were in peak physical condition following all their extra training so they'd be fine. Maybe they wouldn't be up for a heavy workout tomorrow, but that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. After all, those tired and aching muscles were surely going to be in need of a little massage...

Penny suddenly found herself in need of a lie-down...

Her excuse of jet-lag hadn't been entirely falsified. No, the journey from London, though considerably shorter than it had been even a few years ago, always took it out of her. She'd fallen asleep immediately, but then woken early, fully alert and somewhat frustrated to find that it wasn't yet 5am.

Well, there would be no more sleep for her that night, she knew that for certain. What she needed right now was some tea. Not wanting to disturb Parker, who she knew would still be fast asleep, she made her way to the dark and deserted kitchen, enjoying the somewhat rare experience of making the drink herself. Whilst it didn't taste as good as it did when Parker was in charge of proceedings, it was still more than welcome, and she decided to drink it out on the terrace, where the faint rays of sunshine were just beginning to make themselves visible.

It was a beautiful sunrise and Penny stared at the horizon, almost hypnotised by the slowly brightening sky and the gentle chirping of the island birds.

It came as quite a shock when a loud splash of water shattered the tranquillity.

She drew in a sharp breath and crept closer to the terrace wall. Could it be...? Yes, it was! A Tracy brother getting in a little extra training. But which one? She hoped for Scott but steeled herself for the disappointment of seeing Gordon. Oh, he was a nice enough boy, but that's what he was in her eyes: a boy - and Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward didn't waste her time on boys, however well-built they might be...

"Really, Penelope!", she admonished herself. Millions of women would kill to be in her position now, watching Gordon Tracy power through the water -

No, _not_ Gordon. The hair, though darkened by the water, was undeniably blond. Alan, then. Oh well...

But no, now that she studied the swimmer's build, he was clearly taller and skinnier than the youngest brother. Penny smiled, holding the second-oldest brother in high esteem, though more for his intellect and good counsel than his physical presence. Now she thought about it, it didn't surprise her that John was getting in a bit of extra practice. There were no swimming pools up in space. Though weren't they supposed to be doing the butterfly? John was performing a perfectly acceptable, if rather leisurely, front crawl.

Penny watched idly, hoping that the other brothers - ie, Scott - would join in. But it seemed that John was destined to be lonely that morning. She'd started to turn away, thinking it was probably about time for some breakfast, when a loud splashing caught her attention and she looked back at the pool.

She froze. John's easy stroke had gone. Now he would disappear under the water for several seconds at a time, re-emerging with a wild flail of arms and legs, audibly sucking in what was clearly a desperately-needed breath, before sinking down again. He wasn't moving forwards any more, either. It was clear that he was in trouble. Cramp, maybe, Penny surmised. Or perhaps exhaustion following the strains of the previous night's rescue. Well, whatever the problem was, it was a big one. As she watched, he sank beneath the surface once again - and this time he didn't re-appear.

Penny ran down the steps, pulling off her robe as she went. Without a thought for the damage the water would do to her pink silk negligee, she dived in, strong strokes taking her to the middle of the pool, where John had finally breached the surface. But this time there was no frantic gasp for breath, no clumsy attempt to get arms and legs working together. This time, John simply floated on the surface, eyes closed, totally motionless.

Penny wasn't a member of International Rescue for nothing. Slipping a hand behind John's head to steady him, she pinched his nose with her other hand, fastened her lips onto his and blew into his mouth.

The response was gratifyingly quick. John's whole body jerked and he struggled to free himself from Penny's grasp.

"Relax, John," she murmured soothingly, pulling him close once again to support him. "It's alright."

"Relax?" John squeaked, in a most un-Tracy-like way. "Penny, what are you _doing?_ "

"What am I doing?" Penny asked, "I'm saving your life."

"Saving my life?" John spluttered. "You nearly gave me a heart-attack."

"Well, you were drowning..."

"No I wasn't! I was having a rest. The butterfly's hard work and - well, I'm not very good."

 _Not very good_? Penny had to bite back a most unlady-like response, the gist of which was that 'not very good' was something of an understatement. Who could blame her for getting the wrong end of the stick?

"Penny?"

"Yes, John?"

"You're still holding on to me."

"Oh. Sorry."

"It's just that if anyone was to see us..."

'Anyone' really could have meant any of the inhabitants of the island, but both knew - without sharing that idea or the very different reasons behind it - that the one person they wouldn't want seeing them in what could easily look like a compromising position, was Scott.

Penny let go of John so suddenly that he sank down once again, this time swallowing so much water that when he finally surfaced, he was coughing and spluttering so hard that Penny's life-saving skills might have really been needed. But by that point she was out of the pool and anxiously scanning the surrounding area for any watching eyes.

"Penny?" John had finally recovered his breath, if not his pride.

"Yes, John?"

"Let's not mention this to anyone."

And this time, 'anyone' meant exactly that.


	5. Let the Games Begin!

**Just a short one but at least it's a quick update! Thanks so much to everyone who responded to the last chapter - I really appreciate it, especially after such a long break in writing/posting.**

Chapter Five - Let the Games Begin!

It was the evening before the first event. Everyone gathered in the lounge - most notably, of course, the five toned Tracy brothers. Three sat on chairs and couches, along with all the other inhabitants of the island, including Kyrano, whilst Brains was present via Thunderbird Five's vid-link. Virgil was at the piano, whilst Alan stood in front of him, looking around and waiting expectantly for silence.

When everyone was suitably quiet and attentive, Alan began.

"Ladies," he nodded at Penny, Tin-Tin and Grandma, "Gentlemen," Jeff, Brains, Kyrano and Parker received nods in turn, "And worthy competitors. Well, some of you." He grinned at John, who, after a quick glance to check whether his father or grandmother might see, made his response via the international language of gesture.

"I did prepare a speech," Alan continued, holding up his hand to silence the groans from his brothers, "But Gordon threw it in the pool." He had to wait then whilst Scott, John and Virgil went up to shake Gordon's hand and clap him on the shoulder.

Jeff caught Penny's eye and mouthed an apology. Well, he thought, at least he couldn't say she hadn't been warned. Reassured by the genuine smile she gave him in return, he relaxed. Truth be told, he was enjoying himself. This was exactly what they all needed - some light relief from the stresses of International Rescue. Gordon was back to his old self already, and everyone had benefitted from the extra training. Not that physical prowess would be needed for all the events. His own, for example... He chuckled to himself, picturing his boys' reactions when they found out what he had in store for them.

"Dad?"

Jeff jerked back to reality at Alan's call, sitting up straight to hear the remainder of his son's opening speech.

"So, I'm just going to wish everyone luck and I promise I won't gloat too much when I wipe the floor with you all. _Ow!_ "

"Scott, no throwing!" Grandma admonished. "At least, nothing heavier than a cushion."

"Yeah, Scott. Like this." Gordon demonstrated, but Alan had spotted the missile and dodged it, meaning that it headed straight for Virgil who was too busy making a few last minute changes to the score he'd written to see it coming.

"Virgil, no!" Grandma got up to stop Virgil's advance on Gordon. "Come on, Alan, I think we've had enough now. Dinner is-"

"Not just yet, Grandma." Alan caught her hand. "Whilst you're up, I need you to help me out." He handed her a small box with a red button on top. "Ready, Virg?" he asked.

Virgil sat back down at his piano, aimed a final glare at Gordon and began to play the music he'd written specially for the occasion.

Alan let him run through it once at full volume then indicated to his brother that he was ready to speak again. This time, the melody became a soft accompaniment to Alan's final grand announcement.

"I now declare the Tracylimpics open. Let the best man (that's me!) win. Grandma, whenever you're ready."

Grandma pushed the button as Virgil launched into a dramatic fanfare. For a moment nothing happened, then the lights in the lounge went out, there was a loud bang and a wall of flame engulfed the wall on which Alan had placed the scoreboard.

Everyone leapt to their feet, Scott shouting instructions to his team: Gordon to get the fire extinguisher; John to help Virgil push the piano away; Parker to take care of Grandma who was staring at the control box wide-eyed and clutching at her heart; Alan to get the hell out of there and start running for his life...

"Scott, no!" Alan pulled him back. "It's fake. A hologram. Brains set it up."

A relative calm returned as they watched Alan walk up to the wall and place his hand against the 'flames'.

"See? Nothing to worry about. We've got to have an Olympic flame."

Jeff wasn't entirely convinced. Taking a deep breath to calm his still-pounding heart, he turned to the vid-link. "Brains?"

"I-it's perfectly s-safe, Mr T-Tracy."

"Told you," Alan said.

"But maybe a little over-dramatic?" Jeff suggested. "A little warning would have been nice." He gestured at his mother, now sitting in the lounge's most comfortable chair whilst being fussed over by the rest of the family.

Brains reddened. "W-well, it wasn't supposed to b-be quite s-so-"

"I tweaked it a bit," Alan interjected. "What? We're Tracys, aren't we? Everything we do is bigger and better than everyone else."

Jeff sighed. He looked back at the wall, admitting that it certainly looked magnificent - if slightly terrifying. "You're sure it's safe?"

"Oh, come on, Dad. Do you think I'd-"

"I was asking Brains."

Alan sulked as Brains assured them that there was no danger.

Grandma, always embarrassed whenever her age revealed any kind of weakness, had got to her feet and was waving away the well-meaning hands which reached to steady her. "I think it's time for dinner. Kyrano, shall we?"

As everyone except Alan followed them into the dining room and Brains cut the link with Five, Jeff looked once more at the wall.

"What have I let myself in for?" he muttered.

Alan had regained his good spirits. He patted his father on the back, then headed for the door, calling over his shoulder as he went:

"Cheer up, Dad. It'll soon be over. Hey, just wait till you see what I've got planned for the closing ceremony!"

If diving for the bar and pouring an extra-large large scotch was an Olympic event, Jeff would have been the undisputed, never-to-be defeated champion!


	6. Challenge One: Gordon

_Just a quick one..._

Chapter Six - Challenge One: Gordon

To Penny's surprise, there was a distinct lack of the rivalry and posturing which had been a feature of the build-up to the games when the brothers met at the pool for the first competition.

"This is Gordon's event," Jeff said, when the aristocrat expressed this view. "Everyone knows it. The only question is who's going to come second, and my boys have never seen that as much of an achievement. Just enjoy the peace and quiet, Penny - it's not going to last."

"Penny, will you do the honours?" Alan asked, holding the starting pistol out to her.

"I'd be delighted," she told him, allowing him to lead her to the top of the pool where the rest of the Tracy boys were warming up, lunging and stretching and pumping up already bulging muscles. As if that wasn't enough to set a red-blooded aristocrat's heart racing, they then peeled off tee shirts and shorts to reveal - as Tin-Tin had promised - some rather tiny Speedos.

Penny would have been happy to enjoy the view for a while longer, but Alan called his brothers up to the pool's edge.

"Over to you, Penny," he said.

Penny raised the pistol.

"On your marks!" she called.

The five brothers moved to the very edge of the pool, faces set in determination.

"Get set!"

They bent forwards, ready to dive in. Scott was closest to Penny and the woman couldn't help but notice the way his Speedos shifted against his hips as his muscles flexed, revealing even more bronzed skin. She sighed, wondering if his tan really did go all the way down...

"Milady?"

Penny jerked out of her reverie to see all the non-competitors staring at her, whilst all the Tracy brothers except Gordon wobbled slightly as they tried to hold their positions.

"Oh, my goodness. I'm terribly sorry. I don't know what came over me." Penny blushed as Grandma treated her to a disdainful sniff, whilst Tin-Tin tried to hide her laughter.

"Get set... GO!"

The starting pistol fired and the race was on.

Naturally Gordon entered the water first, closely followed by the Scott, Virgil, Alan and...

"John?"

John was still standing at the edge of the pool, rubbing his calf. "I'm okay, Grandma," he assured her. "Just a touch of cramp." He took a few tentative steps. "Dammit! Sorry, Grandma, but it's just so frustrating after all the extra practice I put in. I'd gotten pretty good, you know." He caught Penny's eye as he said this, daring her to contradict him.

She said nothing, but Grandma wasn't letting it go that easily. "You had to hold that position for far too long. Jeff, call the boys in. We'll restart the race."

"No, Grandma!" John's response came smartly. "We can't, it's not fair on the guys and anyway, we agreed there'd be no second chances. Rules are rules, you know." He hobbled away quickly, leaving everyone but Penny staring open-mouthed after him. After all, when had John Tracy ever cared for rules? Penny, however, was trying to keep a straight face as she registered that the leg he was favouring now wasn't the one he'd claimed to be affected a moment earlier. Not that she blamed him for wanting to find a way to avoid the humiliation which would have accompanied a public display of his somewhat individual swimming style.

It was no surprise when Gordon finished the race some twenty seconds ahead of his brothers. "I held back," he informed the others as he pulled himself up onto the poolside. "Didn't want to embarrass them too much. Hey, where's Johnny?"

He laughed when his grandmother informed him of John's misfortune. Penny thought he wasn't fooled, either. But he said nothing, turning back to the pool to watch the mighty battle being fought between Scott and Virgil. There was barely half a metre between them as first one, then the other, moved ahead. They were neck and neck as they reached the poolside and Jeff and Kyrano, who were adjudicating, finally declared it a tie after much deliberation. Neither brother was happy, insisting they'd been robbed and demanding the installation of cameras, sensors and any other devices which would differentiate between them in the future.

Alan was last, though he took his defeat in good humour, declaring that at least he had a couple of points, unlike poor John who still had nothing.

Gordon grinned as he accepted his medal from Tin-Tin, then the brothers towelled themselves dry and headed up to the lounge where the first points were entered onto the scoreboard.

"Now the contest really begins," Jeff muttered to Penny. "From here on in, any of them could win it."

"Indeed. What's next?"

"It's a good one. Tin-Tin's engineering challenge."

"How exciting." Penny had to draw on all her skills as MI5's top mistress of deception. An engineering challenge? The boys would be wearing overalls - and where was the fun in that?


	7. Challenge Two: Tin-Tin

_I'm sorry for the long wait for an update. Once again, life got a bit crazy. Things are calmer now, so I'm hoping to be back on track with regular updates, not to mention revisiting 'Nothing Lasts Forever'._

Chapter Seven - Challenge Two: Tin-Tin

After lunch, everyone gathered in Thunderbird Two's silo and awaited Tin-Tin's appearance. As Penny had feared, the Tracy brothers were indeed clad in overalls, but even so, she wasn't too disappointed. How could she be, when not half an hour ago, she'd discovered Scott gingerly rotating a shoulder, confessing that maybe he'd overdone it a little in the swimming challenge. She'd brushed aside his protests that he was absolutely fine and insisted on massaging the offending deltoid. Of course, she'd had to ask him to remove his shirt in order to do so, and he'd obviously needed to flex those firm muscles several times in order for her to establish the nature of the damage. Scott had been impressed with her technique, declaring himself perfectly recovered after just a few minutes, but Penny had insisted on giving his other shoulder a going-over too, just in case.

She'd never had so much fun on any of her previous visits to Tracy Island.

She was jolted out of her reverie as Gordon suddenly crashed into her, almost knocking her over. It was Jeff who steadied her, fixing his second-youngest with a steely glare. "Enough!" The gaze was turned onto Alan. " _Both_ of you."

A mortified Gordon apologised to Penny.

"Where's my apology?" Alan asked.

"What am I apologising for?" the redhead asked.

"Insulting Tin-Tin. You're lucky I only pushed you. I should have hit you."

Gordon looked bemused. "I didn't insult Tin-Tin."

"You did! You suggested she'd given me a heads-up on this challenge."

"No I didn't. I only asked why you seemed so confident. Even Virg is tense, and he's the engineer of the team, but you're whistling and you've got that big grin on your face. You know something, Al - I know you do."

Alan fixed him with a look of the utmost innocence. "I swear on Grandma's apple pie that Tin-Tin hasn't said anything to me. As for the rest, well, I'm just pleased the Tracylimpics are going so well."

Gordon didn't look convinced, but he said nothing, instead moving to join the rest of his brothers who were gathered outside one of the workrooms that they used for repairs.

"Are you ready?" Tin-Tin asked.

Five heads nodded in response.

"When I open the door, you can go in, choose a booth and make a start. You'll find your instructions on your workbench. Parker will be keeping an eye on you, so behave yourselves. Good luck everyone."

With that, she pressed the button which controlled the door. Five brothers scrambled through, with an amused Parker bringing up the rear. The door closed behind them and Tin-Tin, Penny and Jeff headed up to the lounge to watch the proceedings in comfort.

Inside the workroom, the five brothers had settled themselves at a workbench, each one screened off from the others to avoid prying eyes. Typically, Gordon immediately grabbed a couple of components which seemed to belong together, snapping the connectors in place before he even glanced at Tin-Tin's instructions. Not that they gave much help, simply being a guide to the various stages of the challenge. Even so, it was no surprise to those watching that Scott, John and Virgil read the information carefully - twice! - before beginning to sort through the pile of components Tin-Tin had left out for them. However, it was certainly a surprise when Alan also appeared to be reading his sheet of paper carefully. Jeff had expected his hyper-competitive youngest to be as keen as Gordon to get started.

"How long do you think this will take?" Penny asked.

"That depends," Tin-Tin told her. "There are quite a few red herrings in the kit I put out for them, but once they work out which are the key pieces they'll make quick progress." She indicated a crate standing on Jeff's desk. Of course, they'll have to come up here to finish it off and complete the final part of the challenge."

"That's right." Jeff smiled. "And in the event of a tie, I get to make the final decision, depending on the quality of their work."

It looked as though there might indeed be a tie. After a number of false starts, most of the brothers seemed to be making progress. Scott had begun well, but had clearly gone wrong somewhere, cursing as he pulled his work apart and started again, throwing a couple of pieces of circuitry over his shoulder in frustration, before having to scrabble round the floor to retrieve a piece he decided he needed after all.

John seemed to know exactly what he was doing, but he worked slowly and methodically, no match for Virgil, who was not only the most highly-trained in such matters, but who was used to making quick repairs under difficult circumstances during rescues. Having a workroom with everything he could possibly need laid out for him was quite a luxury, and the middle Tracy was progressing well. Not as well as Alan, though. After much studying of his components, the young man had scratched his head for a while, then, with a triumphant - and in Penny's opinion, unnecessarily dramatic - cry, grabbed a few wires and started to connect them.

Only Gordon still looked bewildered, clearly uncertain as to what he was actually making.

"Looks like it's between Virgil and Alan," Jeff said.

Tin-Tin smiled, clearly having a favourite, whilst Penny had to bite her tongue. Not only would it be very unladylike to shout at the vid-screen as Scott once again dismantled something he'd spent ten minutes putting together, but it would also be rather embarrassing to have everyone discover her feelings for Scott.

Twenty minutes later, it was Alan who jumped up from his bench, grabbed the machine he'd assembled and, with a cheerful, "See you later, losers!", left the workroom. Two minutes later, he emerged from the elevator, cheerfully greeted his father and Penny, blew a kiss towards Tin-Tin and strolled over to the crate where he casually picked out the pieces of casing and the attachments he needed to complete the task.

"There you go!" he announced, several minutes later. "One coffee machine. Nice idea, Tin-Tin. Something you'd find in all the 'Birds - and the thing that keeps International Rescue going."

He flung himself into his father's chair and put his feet on the desk.

Jeff opened his mouth, then closed it again, clearly wanting to say something but restraining himself.

Alan grinned and removed his feet. "Sorry, Dad. Just enjoying my victory."

"Virgil is on his way," Tin-Tin said, glancing over at the feed from the workshop camera. "Alan, did you hear what I just said?"

Alan made himself more comfortable. "Sure I heard you. So Virg comes in second again. Well, I suppose two is his favourite number."

Oblivious to the looks Jeff, Penny and Tin-Tin were exchanging, Alan fixed his gaze on the door to the elevator, his grin becoming even wider as it opened and Virgil came out.

"Well done, Virg," he said. "You put up a good fight but I was just too... Virgil?"

Virgil had initially looked resigned to his fate as runner-up, but now an incredulous expression stole over his face. One glance at his father, who shrugged and raised a confused eyebrow, was enough and the middle brother dashed over to the crate, pulled out the remaining parts of his coffee machine, assembled it - and then, to Alan's surprise, headed into the kitchen.

Tin-Tin put her head in her hands. "Oh, Alan," she sighed.

"What?" Alan stood up and stared in the direction of the kitchen, from which the sound of coffee brewing could be heard. But he got no response from anyone.

Virgil came back a few minutes later, a cup of steaming hot coffee in his hand which he handed to his father with a smile. "Cream and two sugars. Just the way you like it, Dad."

"Thank you." Jeff took the cup and sipped at his coffee. "Perfect. Well done, son. First place."

"Huh?" Alan looked totally confused. "But I won."

"No you didn't," Jeff told him.

"But I got up here first. I put the thing together first. There it is, look."

"But that wasn't the end of the challenge," Tin-Tin said, somewhat sadly.

"It wasn't?"

Virgil was laughing so much he could barely get his words out. "You didn't turn the paper over, did you?"

"Turn over?" Alan stared at him. "There was a second page?"

"Yep."

"The final part of the challenge was to prove the quality of the assembly by making coffee," Tin-Tin told him. "Which I'm afraid makes Virgil the winner."

Alan wasn't happy. It was only the realisation that John was on his way up that put a stop to his complaining. As the elevator doors opened once again, he caught up his coffee machine and made a dash for the kitchen...

When all the brothers were finally assembled in the lounge, Virgil accepted the winner's medal with good grace. Gordon, however, couldn't resist poking fun at his younger brother. Jeff, too, could see the funny side, but when he saw the warning signs that Alan was about to lose his temper, he called a halt to Gordon's fun.

"Leave your brother alone," he admonished.

"Well, at least you proved you didn't get any help from Tin-Tin," Gordon said, holding out his hand for Alan to shake.

Alan managed a sickly smile. No, Tin-Tin hadn't helped him - she was far too honourable to do such a thing. It had merely been a happy coincidence that when he'd decided to surprise her with a bunch of wild flowers he'd picked for her, she'd been in the process of ordering the five coffee machines. He'd heard her through the open window as he'd approached the house.

He tried to console himself with the thought that although he'd rather have had the win and lived with the resulting guilt, at least now his conscience was clear.

It didn't work.


	8. Challenge Three: Penny

_**I know, another late update - it's not completely my fault this time, though. Penny decided to change her challenge (I still can't decide if I like it or not when a character decides they want to go off and do their own thing. Jeff is the worst, he's already changed his mind twice...). I didn't like my first draft and then everything got held up as work got incredibly stressful and I couldn't focus on anything else. Thanks to everyone for the support and feedback on this one, it's really appreciated. Whirlgirl, it's always great to hear from you - I'm glad you're enjoying the story**_ _ **.**_

 _Virgil : 18 points_

 _Alan : 13 points_

 _Gordon: 11 points_

 _Scott: 11 points_

 _John: 5 points_

Challenge Three: Penny

Virgil couldn't help but look pleased with himself when they gathered in the lounge after breakfast the next morning. A win and a second place had given him a comfortable lead and although Alan's go-karting race was to be held that evening with ten points pretty much guaranteed for his youngest brother, Virgil couldn't help but feel he had a good chance of retaining first place overall.

Not that his brothers agreed.

"Make the most of it while you can, Virg," Scott teased.

"Oh, I will," Virgil told him. "Feels good, Scott. Shame you'll never find out for yourself."

Scott refused to be riled. "I'm just getting warmed up," he said lazily. "Just like in the old days - I'm giving you kids a head start before I wipe the floor with you."

"Your memory's going in your old age. You never 'wiped the floor' with us," Alan scoffed. "In fact, as I remember, it was quite the opposite!"

"Come on, Al, be fair. Big brother just _let_ us win," Gordon said, coming up and slinging an arm around Scott's shoulder. "Isn't that right, Scotty?"

"Sure is," Scott agreed, oblivious to the ' just humour the poor guy' faces Gordon was pulling behind his back, much to the amusement - and, it had to be said, the agreement - of the other three brothers. When he did finally twig something was going on, John was quick to distract him.

"Does anyone have an idea what Penny's got in store for us?" he asked.

Nobody did.

"She's being as secretive as you, Virg," Gordon said. "Still no clues?"

Virgil shook his head. "You'll have to wait and see." _Like I'm doing myself,_ he thought. Aside from the predictable 'paint a picture or compose a tune' tasks he wanted to avoid, he had no idea what he could put forward for his challenge. It had been easy to persuade Grandma that his event should run on the final day, so giving himself more time to think of something, but that day wasn't so far ahead any more, and he still hadn't come up with anything. His muse seemed to have deserted him, and whilst that happened on occasion, only for her to re-emerge with the most brilliant of ideas, time had never been so tight before. He was really getting desperate, especially since the more of a secret he made the event out to be, the more expectant of something spectacular everyone became.

He was saved from any further questions by the arrival of Penny.

"Good morning, boys," she said, standing in front of the wall of flame which was now flickering gently, Jeff having given up waiting for Alan to do it and restored it to Brains' original setting himself. "I do hope you'll enjoy this challenge."

"So what is it?" Scott asked.

"Well, if you'll return to your rooms, you'll find that Parker has set out everything you need. I suggest we meet in the gymnasium in half an hour. You'll need a little training before the contest begins."

Intrigued, the brothers made their way back to their rooms.

 _"What the..."_

 _"Seriously?"_

 _"Awesome!"_

The brothers' reactions couldn't have been more varied. Whilst the three eldest simply stared at the outfits laid out on their beds, Gordon and Alan were hastily divesting themselves of the shorts and tee-shirts they'd been wearing and were pulling on their new garb, desperately keen to get to the gym and get started.

They even arrived ahead of Penny, who appeared some five minutes afterwards, pristine and elegant in her white, skin-tight outfit. Gordon would have whistled appreciatively, except that this was the mid twenty-first century and a man wasn't supposed to do that kind of thing anymore -especially not to someone like Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward.

"Fab choice, Penny!" Alan enthused. "I always loved _The Three Musketeers_."

"Me too. Dad was always telling us off for having mock sword-fights with rolled-up newspapers, " Gordon told her.

"Yeah." Alan grew misty-eyed at the memories. "Of course, the other guys didn't take too kindly to being prodded with our 'swords'."

"No," Gordon agreed. "They'd humour us for a while, but when they got fed-up they'd just grab the paper and use it as a club instead."

"Scott was the worst," Alan told her. Those things hurt, you know." He grimaced as he rubbed his head.

"Really..." Penny mused on this thought for a moment. It hadn't occurred to her that Scott might not be too enthusiastic about her challenge. She'd expected this form of combat to appeal to the one-time Air Force captain. But then again, there was a big difference between a proper duel and a childish scrimmage. She couldn't help but smile at the image of the strong, capable men she knew so well as small boys. Grandma Tracy had promised to show her some of the old video footage she'd found of those bygone days and Penny, usually none too enthusiastic at the prospect of viewing someone's old home movies - not that her innate good manners would ever have allowed her to hint at such a thing - was looking forward to getting an insight into the life of the Tracys in the years long before International Rescue.

At the sound of voices outside, she smoothed down the already perfect lines of her outfit and patted at her hair, which had been artfully tied back in a pony tail, only a few wispy tendrils framing her face. Practical yet, undeniably attractive, she'd thought, as she'd teased the style into shape. Combined with the figure-hugging suit, she knew she looked good. Not that she simply looked the part, of course. No, Penny was an accomplished swordswoman. She knew her stuff and she was looking forward to teaching the Tracy brothers some of her moves.

The door slid open and the three remaining brothers entered. John came first, looking somewhat like a male version of Penny, lithe and, though undeniably masculine, with a particular grace in his movement which was only enhanced by the crisp white suit. Virgil followed him, and Penny immediately noticed the smear of yellow paint on his sleeve. How typically Virgil, she thought, well-used to seeing him return from rescues covered in mud and dust even when everyone else was spotlessly clean.

But the one she wanted to see was Scott. She was actually proud of the self-restraint she'd shown in her choice of challenge. There would be no gratuitous Tracy-ogling today. No, she was taking this one seriously.

She actually caught her breath as Scott appeared. Though her gasp was lost amidst the catcalls and laughter from Gordon and Alan. It seemed all those workouts in preparation for the Tracylimpics had developed Scott's already considerable muscles even more than she'd realised, for the kit she'd had made for him using the measurements Grandma Tracy had given her, fitted him just a little _too_ snugly. Not that Penny didn't appreciate it, but she couldn't help feeling a little guilty that she'd embarrassed him in front of his brothers. Though Scott tried to laugh it off, he was clearly self-conscious. Not only that, but as the training session got underway, it became clear that he was disadvantaged due to the way the tight suit restricted his movement. Still, it allowed Penny the chance to move up close and to lay her perfectly manicured hands on him as she guided him into the correct positions. Unfortunately, she had to do the same for Gordon, who, as smooth as his movements might be in the water, was considerably clumsier out of it.

After an hour of practice, Penny called a halt to proceedings. The boys were hot and tired and she herself was more than ready for a cup of tea.

"Well done," she told them. Indeed, she was more than pleased. Everyone had taken their training seriously and, if not the most elegant of swordsmen - well, aside from John, who had taken to the sport with alacrity - they were certainly not lacking in agility and daring. A good choice of challenge, she thought, and one deserving of a reward. "Would you like to join me for a cup of tea? It's eleven o'clock and Parker will be preparing a pot of Earl Grey."

The boys declined, none of them fans of the heavily scented beverage that Penny enjoyed so much.

"We're okay, Penny," Scott said, his brothers nodding in agreement. "Guess we'll stay here and practise a bit more."

"Very well." Penny paused to watch as the brothers once again assumed the appropriate position, one arm aloft as the other held the sword in a perfectly straight line. Allowing her gaze to linger on Scott just a little longer than necessary - such a pity he'd ripped the underarms of his suit, but at least the extra freedom of movement would benefit him in the eventual competition - she finally tore herself away and headed up to the lounge.

Grandma joined her for tea. The old lady had been none too sure about Penny's choice of activity and was relieved to hear that everything was in order down in the gym.

"Really, Mrs Tracy, there's nothing to worry about. The blades are blunt and the ends are capped. They release the tiniest of electrical charges when they make contact with an opponent's suit, but only enough to register the hit on the scoreboard. The boys are taking it all very seriously. It's a matter of discipline, you see."

"Oh, I know all about discipline," Grandma told her. "I've had plenty of practice." She didn't say anything, but she couldn't help but wonder how her companion would have coped with some of the dramas her boys had become involved in over the years.

Penny just laughed and insisted that the brothers had been models of decorum.

Grandma didn't look entirely convinced. She, too, had been reminded of Gordon and Alan's somewhat trying obsession with _The Three Musketeers_. Not only had there been numerous bruises as the improvised weapons had made contact, but she'd also regularly had to pacify an irate son whose paper had been appropriated and left tattered and torn before he'd even had time to see the headlines. There had been no elegant swordsmanship in those days, that was for sure.

"Why don't you come and see for yourself?" Penny suggested, so Grandma accompanied her down to the gym.

"You're going to be so proud of your boys, " Penny promised. "They-"

She broke off as the door slid open and she took in the scene in front of her.

The order which had been present when she'd been supervising, was long gone. The gym itself looked as though a whirlwind had swept through it. A stand which had held an assortment of weights had been knocked over, the weights scattered across the floor. A running machine had been turned on and was going at a ridiculous speed, its motor whining as a wisp of smoke crept out of the control panel. Various other pieces of equipment littered the room, having presumably escaped from a cupboard, the door of which was now hanging off its hinges.

But it was the five brothers - clearly unaware that they had company - who really caught the women's attention. Scott had Gordon in a headlock and was ignoring his brother's flailing arms and pleas for mercy as he soundly boxed his ears. John, his hand bleeding, had a terrified-looking Alan pinned against the wall, his blade at his brother's throat, whilst he muttered various things totally unsuitable for the ears of either an elderly lady or an English aristocrat.

At least Virgil wasn't getting involved. In fact, he seemed totally oblivious to the carnage around him as he stood with eyes closed, humming some new tune and using his sword as a baton with which to conduct an imaginary orchestra. Not that he appeared to have been completely left out of whatever skirmishes had ensued after Penny had left. His previously white suit was now filthy. How he'd found so much dust in such a clean room, Penny would never know.

Usually a woman of quick wits and instant action, Penny found herself totally at a loss. It was Grandma who took control, striding into the centre of the gym and surveying her errant grandsons. She didn't even need to raise her voice. A faint, but undeniably irritated cough was all it took.

Scott immediately let go of Gordon, who hit the ground in an untidy heap. John dropped his weapon, though he continued to eyeball Alan for a moment before turning away. Only Virgil was slow to react, an enthusiastic flourish of his blade nearly taking Penny's head off before Scott stepped up and pulled the weapon out of his hand.

There was a long silence. Finally, sheepishly, the five of them began to apologise.

Grandma listened frostily as Scott explained how Gordon had thought it funny to increase the voltage on his equipment so that when he scored a hit on his eldest brother, Scott had received a nasty shock.

"I didn't mean to hurt John!" Alan said hastily, indicating the hand his blond sibling was cradling. "I swear, the cap just fell off the sword. I didn't realise until John started bleeding."

Grandma shot Penny a stony glare and the aristocrat, fearless secret agent though she was, felt herself blushing scarlet. She'd checked the equipment before she'd given it out, but clearly she'd underestimated the ability of the brothers to not only break things, but to damage each other in the process.

"Virgil, stop fidgeting!" Grandma snapped, having inspected John's hand and proclaimed it to be merely a scratch. "You can write that tune down once you've tidied up. Look at the state of this place. And as for your suit... Honestly, boys, I despair."

The old lady watched as five subdued grandsons began tidying up, only speaking occasionally to point out something they'd missed, or to call a halt to any complaining - there being several dark mutterings along the lines of _"It wasn't me,"_ or _"Just you wait..."_ . When order was finally restored, she turned and swept out of the room, announcing to a mortified Penny as she went,

"Now _that_ , my dear, is discipline."

The contest itself was something of an anticlimax. As the brothers were still inclined to be bitter about the morning's events, Penny decided that rather than allow them to fight each other, they should all fight her and points would be awarded not only for the number of hits scored, but for the poise and elegance with which each man fought. As a result, the bouts were orderly, if a little one-sided. It was no surprise when John was declared the winner, closely followed by Scott. Penny had been highly offended when Alan had - jokingly - claimed favouritism, and the young man hadn't dared say another word, settling for third place over Virgil and Gordon, who tied for the final position.

"Great challenge, Penny!" Scott enthused, clearly relieved to have picked up a few much needed points. And faced with such a warm smile, Penny couldn't help but think that the event hadn't been such a disaster after all.


	9. Challenge Four: Alan

_**I'm never going to promise quick updates again - it's just tempting fate. (Maybe now life will stop getting in the way of writing and the boys will cooperate - this chapter has been an absolute nightmare to write.) I haven't given up on either of my stories, but other things have had to take priority. Thanks to everyone who's still reading.**_

 _Virgil: 21 points_

 _Scott: 19 points_

 _Alan: 18 points_

 _John: 15 points_

 _Gordon: 14 points_

 **Challenge 4: Alan**

"I'm not happy about this."

"Really Virgil? You should have said something." There was more than a hint of sarcasm in Jeff Tracy's voice - and a large quantity of weariness, too. Virgil had certainly not held back in expressing his doubts as to the wisdom of turning Thunderbird Two's hangar into a racetrack and Jeff had got to the stage where he was forced to either give voice to his frustration or be driven to the brink of insanity.

"If there's a rescue-"

"The barriers can be removed in under three minutes. We've tested them."

"What if a car goes off the track and hits something vital?"

"The barriers will hold."

"But the-"

"We've tested it."

"What about-"

"Tested."

"You don't even know what I was going to say."

"I think I do." Jeff ran through all seventeen of the objections Virgil had raised. He knew the number - he'd counted through them often enough.

Virgil was finally silenced, though the glowering expression he'd worn since lunch didn't shift. His father sighed and had one more go at reassuring him.

"Virgil, I've told you, it's going to be fine. Brains and I have considered every single thing that could go wrong. You know I wouldn't put the organisation at risk for the sake of a game. Your 'bird is safe, the hangar is safe, the pods are safe. Everything's safe."

"Famous last words," Virgil muttered as Alan approached.

"Not still fretting, Virg?" Alan asked with a grin. "Come on. You know Dad's got plenty of safety measures in place."

Jeff was hardly relieved at his youngest son's arrival, knowing full well that another set of complaints was about to be raised.

"Don't bother, Alan," he said, forestalling his son with a raised hand. "I'm not changing the track to your original design and I'm not removing the speed limiters from the go-karts, either."

"Spoilsport."

"Virgil's right about us needing to be careful. We don't want to put ourselves out of action, do we? Anyway, I'm sure there's plenty to challenge you boys on the track Parker and I have set out."

"Challenge the others, maybe," Alan grumbled. "But it'll be a walk in the park for me."

Virgil didn't bother making any comments along the lines of pride coming before a fall. Just as Gordon had been guaranteed a win in the pool, Alan was sure of first place out on the race track. What order the rest of them would finish in was the only uncertainty. Well, with one exception...

John.

The second-born brother was the most hopeless driver anyone had ever had the misfortune to be stuck in a car with. Finishing the race would be a miracle - if he even managed to get round the track in order to qualify. Virgil just hoped his brother didn't cause too much mayhem - he still didn't entirely trust the piles of tyres that had been set up to mark out the course and protect the valuable equipment. He'd be glad when the event was over and his territory could be restored to its usual order. Plus, all his brothers had been teasing him mercilessly over his protectiveness with regard to Two. Alan had been worst of all. Maybe he'd suggest they rappel down Thunderbird Three for his challenge and his brother could see how he liked it.

"Ready?" Alan asked. "The guys are waiting."

Virgil instinctively took a few steps towards the launch chute before catching himself and trudging unenthusiastically towards the elevator. Sure enough, everyone was gathered down in the hangar, Penny clutching a chequered flag and Tin-Tin positioned in front of the console which would record the qualifying times.

"You know the rules," Jeff said. "Three warm-ups, then a qualifying lap. The race proper consists of twenty-five laps. If you don't finish, you don't get any points."

"Let's get going!" Alan was desperate to start. "I'll go first. Show you guys how it's done."

He certainly did, his first warm-up lap setting a pace which none of the others could hope to match. His flying lap, which Virgil couldn't even bring himself to watch, so close did Alan get to the barriers, was a definitely unbeatable 53 seconds.

"Not bad," Alan announced, coming over to Tin-Tin and checking his time. "Who's up next?"

"Go on, Virg," Scott suggested. "Get it over with."

Torn between the desire to beat his brothers and the need to ensure his 'bird's safety, Virgil set a respectable, if unspectacular time. Scott was fractionally faster, but Gordon, despite crashing into the tyre wall on two of his warm-up laps, beat the pair of them.

"Your turn, Johnny," he called as he took off his helmet. He turned to the others. "This is going to take a while. Should we go for coffee?"

"Shut up!" John told him, getting into his vehicle and trying unsuccessfully to get it started. In the end, Alan reached in and got it going for him. Then John was off - managing a whole five feet before stalling.

"Coffee?" Virgil muttered. "We could be through with dinner by the time he's done."

Sure enough, it was a long time before John completed his flying lap.

"Five minutes, thirty-three seconds," Tin-Tin announced, barely hiding a smile. John's four brothers were less tactful, however, making it quite clear how unimpressed they were, though all of them were secretly surprised that the blond had actually managed to stay on the track long enough to qualify.

As was John himself!

Only Alan had completed a lap in less than a minute. In fact, he was a whole twenty seconds ahead of the rest. As expected, he bragged about his achievement, offered his brothers his condolences on their lack of ability, impending old age and general uselessness, but it was clear his heart wasn't really in it.

"It's too easy," he muttered to Parker. "Like shooting fish in a barrel."

Truth be told, he'd hoped to have more of a chance to impress Tin-Tin. It hadn't escaped him how his girlfriend and Lady Penelope - _especially_ Lady Penelope - had been fascinated by the performances of all five brothers up to this point, clearly enjoying the overt displays of testosterone they'd witnessed over the past few days. He'd heard more than one comment about Scott's biceps and Virgil's abs and he knew that he couldn't really compete with his more solidly built brothers. Not that he was jealous, or that he didn't trust Tin-Tin, but this event was his chance to shine and it would have been nice to have done something a little more dramatic to prove his worth. Starting in front and staying in the lead until an emphatic victory, whilst something he'd have relished in his racing days, simply wasn't doing it for him when it came to the Tracylimpics.

Unless...

"Got it!" he announced.

"Got what?" Gordon asked.

Alan ignored him and walked over to John. "Johnny, " he said, slinging an arm around his brother's shoulders. "I'm going to help you out."

"How?" John asked. "I did what you told me. Didn't help. Let's just get this over with and hope I can retain just a little bit of dignity."

"How about we swap places?"

"What?" four brothers plus a father chorused.

"I'm giving up my place at the front. John, you take it. I mean, it's only fair - I obviously got your share of the talent when it came to driving."

"Hang on a minute," Gordon frowned. "Shouldn't I get pole in that case?"

"Come on, Gords," Alan said. "Are you really going to deny John the chance to lead - even if it's only for about two seconds?"

John's eyes narrowed at the insult, but, clearly desperate, he said nothing.

Gordon thought for a moment then grinned. "Okay. Why not make it interesting. Eh, Tin-Tin?"

He nudged Alan with his shoulder, clearly understanding his brother's motives.

"Thanks, Gords," Alan murmured. He looked expectantly at Scott and Virgil, who needed no persuasion to agree, both being well aware that John was at a disadvantage in most events having been up on Five for so long.

"Are you sure?" Jeff asked.

"Sure, Dad. Anyway, it'll be a sweeter victory knowing I had to work for it."

Jeff rolled his eyes at his son's comment, though he had to agree that his other boys posed no threat to the former F1 world champion. Anyway, it had taken him and Parker most of the day to set up the track - it would be good to know it would witness a proper race.

"Very well, then." Penny moved to the start line whilst the brothers lined up their karts. When everyone was in position and John's stalled car had been restarted, she unfurled the flag and nodded to Tin-Tin, who set the starting lights in motion.

"'H'and they're 'hoff!" Parker cried.

* * *

 _Five hours later..._

"What time is it?" Scott asked.

"Ten-thirty," Virgil told him. "Six minutes since you last asked."

"Well, I'm starving. Go and ask Grandma if we can have dinner now."

"You ask her."

"She'll only say no again. Go on, Virg - you're her favourite."

Virgil didn't deny it, though his smug smile quickly disappeared under the onslaught of cushions thrown at him by three tired, hungry and downright grumpy brothers.

"No point," he said once he'd emerged from the pile of pillows. "You heard her - no dinner till everyone's back upstairs."

"I can't believe he's still going," Gordon said incredulously. "I mean, I'd have thought he'd have run out of fuel by now."

"Nuclear power pack," Scott told him. "That kart could run for days."

"Don't," Gordon groaned. "I bet he'd go for it if he thought he could. Al, why didn't you put a time limit on the race?"

Alan, who had been sitting in a corner, pouting in a way he hadn't done since he was about five, simply glared in his brother's direction.

"Oh, come on, Alan," Scott said, going over and attempting to sling an arm around his youngest brother's shoulders, keeping his cool with the ease of years of experience when Alan elbowed him away. "Don't get upset over it."

"Don't get upset?" Alan roared, leaping to his feet. "I'm not upset!"

"Could've fooled me," Gordon muttered.

"I don't think I've ever been this mad!" Alan continued.

"Well, John-"

"Not with John! With you!"

"Me?" Gordon laughed. "You were the one who tried to overtake on that corner. You should have realised I'd be prepared for it - right in front of Tin-Tin. I mean, come on, Al, you're kinda predictable."

Alan threw him yet another filthy look. "You swerved in front of me."

"Perfectly legitimate move. At least, that's what you said when you did it to Henstrom in Monaco. I seem to recall he didn't like it, either."

"At least Henstrom had the sense to back off. That's why he's a top racing driver and you're an idiot. There was no need for either of us to crash out like that."

The gentle swish of the lounge door opening distracted Gordon from whatever he'd been about to say in response. Four brothers looked eagerly at the man who entered.

"Is it over, Parker?" Gordon asked.

The chauffeur sank down into a chair and rubbed his eyes. "Nope. But 'e's getting there. Lap twenty."

"About an hour to go, then," Scott muttered glumly.

"'E's determined to get to the h'end," Parker agreed. "H'I didn't think h'it was possible to drive that slowly."

"You should have thought of that, Alan," Virgil said. "All that fuss about limiting the top speed when it was the lower speed that you should have been worrying about."

"Oh, shut up, Virg!"

"Hey, don't take it out on me! You're the one that crashed."

"So did you. And my crash was Gordon's fault."

"Well mine was Scott's fault."

"How was it _my_ fault?" Scott was somewhat aggrieved. "I wasn't even on the track when you spun out."

"I caught sight of the damage you did to pod three when you crashed."

"Damage? Virg, there's a tiny scuff on the paintwork. You can barely see it even when you're a centimetre away from it. There's no way you could have seen it from the track."

"Well, I was distracted worrying about it," Virgil told him.

"Yeah, Scott," Gordon laughed. "You really shouldn't have been so apologetic to Virgil. You must have known you'd break his concentration making him think it was worse than it was."

Scott fixed the most innocent of expressions onto his face as Virgil, realising he'd fallen for his brother's ruse to get him out of the race, rose to his feet and advanced on him.

"So you not only ruined pod three..."

"Tiny scratch, Virg."

" _Scratch?_ You said a scuff."

"Scratch, scuff, what's the difference?"

"A scratch is worse."

"Not necessarily."

"Yes it is. And it must be bad given that Dad wouldn't let me go over and have a look. I swear, if we get called out and I have to show up with a damaged 'bird, I'll... I'll..."

Virgil simply couldn't think of a punishment worthy of the crime.

"Though actually," Scott continued, as Grandma came in from the kitchen, "It wasn't really a scratch or a scuff. More of a dent."

" _Dent?_ "

"Sit down, Virgil!" Only Grandma's presence saved Scott from the wrath of his middle brother. Still, to make sure of his safety, Scott made sure to position himself behind his grandmother, figuring there was no point taking unnecessary risks. Reluctantly, Virgil sat down once more, though the evil looks he kept shooting towards Scott suggested that forgiveness wasn't going to be an option any time soon.

"Still no end in sight?" Grandma asked Parker, sighing as she received the latest report.

"How's Dad?" Alan asked.

"Lying down," Grandma told them. "I told him before the race started that those tyres would be too heavy for one man to lift, especially a man whose back is already giving him trouble, but he didn't listen. Well, he's paying for it now. Why are all Tracy men so proud and stubborn?"

"John's going to be proud if he picks up the ten points," Scott said. "Especially since no one else will score any."

"There's still hope," Gordon said.

"You think so?" Scott laughed bitterly. "I _walked_ round the track faster than he was driving."

"So did I," Grandma sighed. She didn't sound too thrilled with the achievement.

"No," Scott told them. "He'll make it. All John has to do is keep going."

He did.

An hour later, tired, hungry, and possibly more exhausted than he'd ever been in his life, given the supreme effort of concentration the task had taken, John finished the course. Penny had to be prodded awake by Tin-Tin in order to wave the chequered flag and all his brothers had fallen asleep so failed to witness his moment of triumph, but John had done what everyone - himself included - had believed impossible.

He'd not only won the driving challenge, but he'd taken the lead in the Tracylimpics.


	10. Challenge Five: Grandma

**What can I say? As always I'm going to have to blame real life, but hopefully all the things that stopped me concentrating on writing are in the past and I can focus on what I want to do instead of what I have to do from now on. That's the plan at least... Thanks to everyone who's still reading this and my other stories.**

Chapter Ten

Challenge Five: Grandma

 _John: 25 points_

 _Virgil: 21 points_

 _Scott: 19 points_

 _Alan: 18 points_

 _Gordon: 14 points_

It was a smug John and a somewhat disgruntled Gordon who turned up for breakfast the next morning. The blond Tracy still couldn't quite believe that he'd taken the lead in such spectacular fashion, whilst Gordon couldn't help but wonder how a project designed to cheer him up after the loss of his world record and Olympic title and which had started so promisingly, was now so lacking in glory.

Alan wasn't much happier. He'd usually won all the events when they were children but - despite his protests to the contrary - he knew that his brothers had let him win, as befitted the baby of the family. He felt he had a point to prove.

"How are we working Grandma's challenge?" Scott asked, finishing the last of his eggs and pushing his plate away.

"Well," Grandma said, looking around the table, "You'll have to take turns on this one. I don't want anyone hanging round the kitchen, and there are to be no hints to anyone once you're done. " She looked pointedly at Scott and Virgil as she said this, failing to be fooled by their expressions of angelic innocence.

"We'll draw lots to see which order you go in," Jeff told them. "Penny, perhaps you'd like to make the selection."

Penny did so. "Alan... Scott... Gordon... and John, which means Virgil goes last."

"Parker and I will be the judges," Jeff told them. "Good luck, boys."

Alan entered the kitchen expecting to find his grandmother and a batch of ingredients. He'd guessed he'd be expected to recreate one of the old lady's famous recipes. Chocolate cake, maybe. Or perhaps apple pie. Whatever it was, he thought he'd be in with a chance. He wasn't a bad cook - and he was determined to read _all_ of the instructions on the recipe before he started. There would be no repetition of the disaster that Tin-Tin's challenge had turned out to be.

But whilst Grandma was exactly where he expected to find her, there was no pile of ingredients waiting for him.

"What do you want me to do, Grandma?" he asked.

"I want you to make the famous Tracy apple pie," Grandma told him. "The winner will be the one that's closest to mine in taste, texture and appearance."

"Okay." Alan waited for more.

"Off you go, then," Grandma said, clapping her hands to hurry him along.

"What? Just like that? Where's the recipe?"

Grandma rolled her eyes. "Alan, that recipe has _never_ been written down. It's a family secret, passed on down through the generations."

"Well, I'm family. Tell me."

"No."

"What do you mean, 'no'? How am I supposed to know what to do?"

Grandma smiled. "It's all part of the test. I'd like to see if any of you have inherited the baking gene. Anyway, all you boys spent enough time in my kitchen in Kansas when I was preparing my pies. Let's see how much you took in. "

Alan frowned as he cast his mind back to the days of his childhood. He'd eaten a whole lot of Grandma's pies, but he'd never taken that much interest in how they arrived on his plate.

"Everything you need is here," Grandma told him, waving an airy hand round the kitchen. "Good luck, dear."

Alan watched her leave and turned back to the pristine kitchen. Kyrano and Grandma between them had always left it spotless.

He just hoped cleaning the mess that five ham-fisted cooks would leave wasn't going to be the next challenge. If it was, he'd just throw in the towel now.

After a few minutes in which he randomly pulled out then replaced a selection of kitchen implements, a brainwave struck him and he headed for the cupboard in which he knew Kyrano kept a selection of cookery books. He was deflated, but not entirely surprised, to find it empty.

"Okay..." he muttered to himself. "Think, Alan. You're six years old. It's winter. Snowing. The other guys are out helping Dad shovel snow from the drive and it's just you and Grandma. The stove's on and Grandma's making a pie..."

He couldn't help smiling as memories of his childhood came flooding back. A lot of them did indeed involve sitting in the kitchen watching - maybe he should have done more helping, he thought, with a touch of remorse - as Grandma prepared the family's meals. Actually, now that he thought about it, he had an advantage over his brothers - he'd had longer with Grandma than they had. She'd raised him from the time he was six months old until he left home for college. Surely he'd have picked up a few tips on how to prepare an apple pie.

"Well, I guess the first thing I need are some apples..." Alan headed for the pantry, delighted to find a barrel full of apples. "Perfect." He grabbed a few and found a knife. Ten minutes later there was a large pile of peelings and a depressingly small bowl of chopped apples. He went back to get two more and a smaller knife and this time took a little more care in his work.

He looked at the resulting pile of apples for a moment, then remembered all the times he'd been instructed to watch over a pan of simmering fruit. Within a few minutes he had the apples bubbling away. By dredging through various hitherto deeply buried memories in which Grandma sent him down to the store to buy various spices, he was able to find the items he needed.

"Just a pinch of this... and a spoonful of that..." Alan added the flavourings and stirred them in with the apples. Picking up a spoon, he took a tentative taste, recoiling at the tart flavour.

 _"Sugar!"_ He smacked his forehead. How could he have forgotten one of the most essential ingredients? Ignoring the temptation to pour cupfuls straight in, he added small quantities, tasting the mixture until he was happy he'd found the right balance.

But if the filling had been relatively straightforward, the pastry wasn't. This was, after all, the most important part. Grandma's lightness of touch was legendary, not just within the family, but back home in Kansas, too, where she'd won innumerable prizes for her baking. Alan doubted he'd have the same ability. Still, he had nothing to lose and he enthusiastically began to fling flour and salt into a mixing bowl.

There might be a touch of the Tracy baking gene in him, but he definitely hadn't inherited Grandma's mania for precision and orderliness, he thought ruefully, some half an hour later. There was flour on the floor, the ceiling, in his hair, his eyes and up his nose - he couldn't seem to stop sneezing, which just spread the particles even further around the kitchen. Grandma would never have allowed him near food with such unhygienic practices, but since there were no witnesses, he wasn't too concerned. Anyway, he'd ended up with something that did indeed resemble pastry. Whether it deserved to be mentioned in the same breath as Grandma's he wasn't so sure, but, with the apples nicely softened, he was ready to put it all together and the pie was soon in the oven.

"Done, Grandma!" he called.

Grandma came in from the lounge. One look at Alan and it was clear she didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

"I don't think so, dear."

"Sorry?"

"You're not done, Alan. You can't leave the kitchen in this state. What will Scott say?"

Alan wouldn't dream of insulting his grandmother's delicate ears with any of the suggestions that occurred to him. With a sigh, he began to clear up the mess he had made.

"How did you get flour in your ears, dear?" Grandma asked, shaking her head.

Alan didn't reply. Truth be told, he had no idea.

Grandma was a ruthless superintendent and Alan's first efforts were dismissed as nowhere near good enough. It took him a good hour to clean up the mess he'd made, by which time, his pie was ready. He'd been so focused on the cleaning that he'd barely registered how good it smelled.

Grandma came to watch as he took it out of the oven.

"That looks lovely, dear," she said, not quite managing to keep the surprise out of her voice.

Not that Alan minded. He was rather surprised himself.

Grandma stopped him as he reached for a knife. "No, Alan. That's your father's job. When everyone's got a pie to serve, he'll try them all out. It's the fairest way to compare the taste."

"But it's fresh now. That's not fair, Grandma."

Grandma patted him on the shoulder. "Don't worry, darling. We've thought of that. You can put it in Brains' preserver."

Thoughts of the unit Brains had constructed which essentially preserved food in stasis, enabling it to be consumed several months after it would have spoiled, still as fresh as the day it was made, relieved Alan's misgivings somewhat. It also reminded him that the following day's challenge had been set by the genius. Alan had no idea what it was, but knowing Brains, he was expecting his brain to be hurting by the end of it.

"Stop daydreaming, sweetheart," Grandma admonished. "Scott's keen to have his turn."

Alan doubted that. Whilst he'd found the challenge a ... well, a challenge, at least he'd known he wasn't too much of a liability in the kitchen. Scott on the other hand... well, his strengths were many, but cooking wasn't one of them.

Sure enough, the smell of burning, followed seconds later by the frenetic beeping of the smoke alarm, told Alan that Scott's morning hadn't gone well. Deciding that an emergency like this overrode his grandmother's instructions to avoid the kitchen, he dashed in, to find his brother waving ineffectually at the charred and smoking remains of what had once been an apple pie.

"Didn't you set the timer?" Alan asked, coughing a little as he activated the extractor fan.

"Of course I did. I don't know what happened. It's only been in twenty minutes."

"Twenty minutes?" Alan stared at him open-mouthed

"What's so funny? I've kept watch over Grandma's pies often enough. I know how long they take."

"In a real oven, sure. But that's the nuclear oven, Scott. _Two_ minutes would have done the job. Twenty minutes!" Alan was laughing so much he had to sit down.

"Ah." Scott couldn't have been more devastated. Knowing full well that no one would have expected him to shine in this challenge, he'd actually been pleased to discover that all the evenings he'd sat in the kitchen talking with his grandmother had resulted in the deeply buried but perfectly clear memory of the way she made her apple pie. He'd really thought he'd done it. A victory right up there with John's first place in the driving challenge.

He'd even remembered how long to cook the pie for. So why had he forgotten Grandma's aversion to modern catering technology? Of course she'd never have trusted her pies to the nuclear oven.

"Never mind, Scotty." Alan swallowed another burst of laughter. "Come on, I'll help you clear up."

It said a lot for Scott's state of mind that he sat back with a coffee whilst Alan did all the work. Not that Alan minded. After all, he reasoned, he could afford to be generous given that he was bound to finish ahead of his brother - and it would be a genuine victory this time, not like when he was a small boy.

Gordon surprised everyone. He not only finished faster than anyone, but he seemed to have made less mess and, judging by both the smell and the look of his pie, had done a pretty good job. Alan was surprised as he grudgingly congratulated his brother on his efforts. Gordon had been a restless child, squirming impatiently whenever he'd been made to sit in the kitchen for anything other than meals - though given that he was usually being told off for some misdemeanour or other when summoned to Grandma's presence, Alan couldn't really blame him for this. But maybe he'd inherited more from Grandma than just her mother's colouring.

After lunch, John took his turn. Alan fully expected his super-intelligent brother to figure out the process in double-quick time, so it was something of a puzzle when John not only took longer to finish than the youngest brother had anticipated, but also took longer to clear up. The sound of the waste disposal unit being put into action for the fourth time made Alan wonder just what John had been doing.

"How'd it go?" he asked, as John exited the kitchen.

"Fine." But John didn't look entirely happy.

"What's wrong?"

But before John could answer, Virgil was brought in by Grandma, and by the time Alan was done wishing his brother luck, John had disappeared.

"Scoot!" Grandma told him, as she returned from the kitchen.

"I just want to see how Virg does."

"You'll find out soon enough. Now didn't Scott say something about an extra training session for the marathon?" She looked out of the window. "Here he comes."

Alan fled as Grandma laughed. She wondered just what the results of the contest would be. Certainly none of the boys had shown much interest in cooking when they were younger. Then again, neither had their father. Eating those pies on the other hand... well, every Tracy was a champion in that department.

Half an hour before dinner was served, everyone gathered in the dining room, where Jeff and Parker sat at the table for a blind tasting, four fine-looking pies and one blackened lump in front of them.

"I think we'll pass on this one," Jeff said, pushing Scott's effort away. He had a fair idea who the baker was, but as much as he loved his son, there were limits and there was no way that abomination was making its way past his lips. But as to the rest, well, there was only one which was easily identifiable - the one with a delicate pastry representation of a tropical landscape. Trust Virgil to turn even a baking challenge into an art project!

"Here goes," Jeff said, cutting a slice out of the first pie. He handed a plate to Parker before taking a spoonful himself. "This is good," he announced. "The pastry's a little heavy, and maybe the filling's a little too sweet, but not a bad start. What do you think, Parker?"

"Not bad," Parker agreed, through a mouthful of pastry.

"Next..." Jeff cut into the biggest and tallest of the pies. "Oh."

"H'it's a bit soggy," Parker said, as the bottom fell out of the slice Jeff was trying to move onto the plate.

"More than a bit," Jeff said, sticking his fork into the pulpy mass which formed the bottom layer of pastry. "Tastes alright, though."

Parker didn't take a second mouthful of this one.

Jeff turned his attention to the third pie. "Looks good," he said, approvingly. "The pastry's nice and light. Definitely reminds me of yours, Mom."

"Now for the filling," he announced, taking a spoonful of the firm but moist apple...

...and immediately launching into a coughing fit.

"What the..."

"What's wrong with it?" It was Gordon who spoke.

"Gordon!" Jeff exploded. "I might have known. You can't take anything seriously, can you?"

But Gordon just looked bewildered - if somewhat insulted. "What's wrong?"

"Gordon, this has to be 100% proof. I don't think I'd be fit to drive for a week if I was on the mainland. What's in it anyway? Whiskey?"

"A touch. But mainly wine. And sherry. Oh, and some gin."

"But why on earth would you put all that in an apple pie?"

"Well, every time I watched Grandma make pie she had a glass of something - and she always said it was to go in the pie."

Everyone turned to look at Grandma.

"Mom?" Jeff raised an amused eyebrow.

"Oh dear." The old lady was a bright shade of scarlet. "Well, Gordon was such a troublesome little thing to have around when I was trying to bake - no dear, as much as I love you, I have to be honest - and I suppose that the only time I called him into the kitchen when I was making pie was when he was in trouble. And you know how he used to be, Jeff. The pranks, all the ways he'd upset his brothers, the complaints from the neighbours, from his teachers... And the excuses he'd come up with! I might have needed a little sip of something to calm me down sometimes. But really, Gordon! Anyone would think I had some kind of problem."

Everyone was laughing now. Except Gordon, who was almost as red as Grandma. And Parker, who had surreptitiously helped himself to another gigantic slice.

"This h'ain't 'alf bad," the chauffeur announced, hiccupping as he did so.

"Thanks, Parker."

"'Ave some, Mrs T," Parker offered, a mischievous glint in his eye as he held out a plate to Grandma.

"No thank you!" the old lady informed him. "I barely touch a drop these days."

"So what were all those bottles doing on the top shelf of the pantry?" Gordon asked.

"I have no idea," Grandma said, in her most dignified voice. "Perhaps Kyrano..."

"Never mind, Grandma," Scott said, slinging an arm around the old lady's shoulders. "Gordon's driven us all to drink at one time or another."

"Hey!"

"Well you have," Virgil told him. When Alan and John, followed by Jeff and even Penny chimed in with their agreement, Gordon was forced to concede the point.

"Well it was still better than Scott's," he said.

"The pastry was definitely the best, son," Jeff said, having taken several mouthfuls of water to allow his taste buds to recover. "So onto the last one."

"It's the best looking," Virgil said innocently, receiving an elbow in the ribs from both Alan and Scott for this comment.

"It's not about appearance," Jeff said. "It's about who makes the best apple pie."

"Apple?"

"Ah..." Jeff had sliced into the pie and was watching bemusedly as the deep red filling was revealed. " _Cherry_ pie? Didn't you listen to Grandma's instructions?"

"Yes. She told me to bake a pie. She didn't say what kind."

"Mom?"

Grandma pulled a face as she tried to remember. "Well, I may have..."

"You told me to bake a pie, too," Scott told her.

Alan and Gordon laughed, somewhat sarcastically. "Trust Scott to stick up for Virg," Gordon muttered.

"What?" Scott protested. "It's true."

"But you still made apple pie, didn't you?"

Scott didn't have an answer to that one.

"I thought it was bound to be an apple pie, but there weren't any apples." Virgil was forced to raise his voice in order to make his protests heard over the jeers of his brothers.

"Yes there were, dear," Grandma said. "In the pantry."

"I looked. No apples. I figured you'd made the challenge a bit more interesting."

"But Virgil, there was a full barrel this morning. More than enough for all of you."

"Grandma, there were no apples. Go and see if you don't believe me."

Grandma frowned and headed for the kitchen. She returned a moment later, confirming what Virgil had said. "I don't understand it," she said. "There were plenty. John, you had enough, didn't you?"

They all turned to look at John, who flushed under the stern gazes of his family.

Parker, who had helped himself to another slice of Gordon's pie, giggled to his mistress. "Mister John's h'only gone and nobbled Mister Virgil's pie."

 _"Parker!_ Please!" Penny hissed in embarrassment.

"John, you didn't?"

"No, Scott. Of course I wouldn't do something like that. I mean, I did use all the apples, but I thought Grandma had put them out for me. There weren't even enough. Only twenty-nine."

There was a chorus of disbelief. _"Twenty-nine?"_

"I always did thirty."

"Ah..." Grandma stepped forward. "That's right. John showed absolutely no interest in cooking when he was a boy. He usually had his nose in a book whenever he did come into the kitchen - I used to have to take it off him and hide it in my roasting pan when we sat down for meals. The only time he helped was when I was baking for some kind of event and even then I had to force him to do it."

"Of course!" Scott laughed. "We'd each have to help peeling apples. Thirty each - John insisted we all had the same number to make it fair. But Johnny, you must have known that was to make a batch of pies."

"No wonder you had so much filling," Gordon said. "Didn't you realise it would make the pastry wet?"

"And that's why you took so long to clear away," Alan chipped in. "Did you really put the rest of the apple mixture into the waste disposal?"

John shrugged. He didn't like to look foolish but he couldn't think of any way to defend himself.

"Sorry, Virg," was all he could say.

Virgil didn't look happy. If his father and grandmother hadn't been there he might have taken it further. But his first priority was the contest.

"So where does this leave us?" he asked.

Jeff took a spoonful of the pie. "It's good, son. Don't you think so, Parker?"

Parker hiccupped and giggled as he took a tiny bite of Virgil's pie, shrugging noncommittally before turning back to Gordon's.

"Guess you have to be disqualified," Gordon said, forcing an air of deep regret into his voice which fooled absolutely no one.

Alan agreed. Even Scott - who could see himself falling even further behind in the overall rankings - seemed to feel the same way. "Never mind, Virg."

"But I made a pie!" Virgil protested, clearly hurt by his brothers' betrayal.

"The challenge was to bake an _apple_ pie," Alan said sulkily, fearing the loss of a victory he'd been certain was his. "The rules say-"

"THERE WEREN'T ANY APPLES!"

"Calm down, Virgil," Grandma soothed. "Judges, it's up to you."

"Parker?" Jeff asked.

"Hic!"

Jeff sighed. "Okay. The winner is this one." He had to pause to allow Alan the chance for a little victory celebration. "Virgil, you're second." He held up his hand to stem the protests. "John, third, Gordon-"

"Now, Mister Tracy, h'ain't you being a bit 'arsh there?"

"No he's not!" Penny told her chauffeur. "Parker, come with me. I think you need some coffee."

"But h'it's tea time."

"Even so, I think coffee is what's needed here."

"H'I'll do it, Milady."

"Perhaps not..."

The sound of their voices faded as Penny steered an unsteady Parker into the kitchen. A moment later came the unmistakeable sound of china smashing.

Jeff decided to ignore it. "Fourth, Gordon. And last, Scott."

Virgil continued to mutter that it wasn't fair, but Alan was delighted to move into second place overall. John, who had maintained his lead, even though it had been cut to just two points, decided it might be prudent to make himself scarce. Virgil would calm down and he could apologise properly later.

He made his way into the kitchen, thinking he would make amends for his inadvertent misdeeds by helping Parker.

But, slumped in a corner with the remains of Penny's favourite china tea pot scattered around him and the lady herself standing over him delivering a lecture which would have rivalled Grandma at her most irate, Parker was clearly beyond any help.


End file.
